


Fissure

by RetrobrandWheeljack



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, M/M, Megatron is a dad, One Night Stands, Seperation, Sparklings, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetrobrandWheeljack/pseuds/RetrobrandWheeljack
Summary: The seeker looked as if he had never seen a youngling in his life.He probably hadn’t.“Yours,” Megatron answered simply. His tone was flat, optics watching the seeker through barely concealed boredom.The lie, as cryptic as it was, slipped easily through his denta.





	1. Chapter 1

Megatron had a faint memory, one before the war- a scarce painting in the back of his mind that refused to slip out of his processor, of a bleak conversation with Terminus.

It was during the rare occasion they were on the surface, enjoying cheap energon and fresh air. Terminus held his head in his hand, optics scanning over a datapad, while Megatron observed a youngling barely out of sparklinghood dancing around the small shop, legs flailing in a way that Megatron didn’t understand.

They were so small. Fragile.

He hadn’t been around many kids.

He remembered her apology, and his dismissive “Kids will be kids.”

Terminus had snorted, optics bright and bemused. 

“Kids will be what you make them.”

He remembered the day Terminus saw Sideswipe, and the day his creation lost a valuable figure in his life.

They both did.

Terminus had emboldened him to do a lot of things. Not one of them had been to raise a child.

His comment still lingered, and manifested a growing feeling that something was coming. The senate was falling to pieces. He had gained a following, one with seekers who brought him presents in the form of cannons.

Starscream was cunning. Intelligent and brilliant. Not bad looking. A seeker who’s ambitions were notoriously… corrupted.

He complained about aristocrats, while acting like one himself sometimes.

Megatron frowned

Under which faith had his followers come forward to him? Under which class? Under which ideology, perhaps written in poetry hidden in dead bodies, did they fall to? Were they following him because he could fight, or for his writing?

Throwing fists in a stadium was different than scratching down words in a dimly lit mine.

He offered a finger to his creation, thinking in disgust of those trying to stay neutral. In their religion, in their side, in what they say.

Cowardly.

Sideswipe, who had now wrapped a tiny, tiny hand around his own much large finger, stared up at him.

He had big purple optics that seemed far too big for his face. 

Soundwave had told him to keep him. 

There was the roar of a crowd, probably enjoying the disembodiment of some poor mech, violence that his creation would grow up around. It rattled the room, and he almost felt the fighting of mechs, his mechs, in the pits.

It was to the death, but Starscream waved it off as gathering the best. 

Megatron shrugged, and let his optics flutter close.

His creation followed his lead, and snuggled further into the crook of his elbow, pedes kicking and stretching into the armour of his stomach. 

Not even a few clicks later, the familiar clack of thrusters warned him of Starscream’s arrival before Soundwaves hurried ping, and he stared blankly at the door as it slid open.

Red optics flared, looking as though he had something else to boss him about. Again.

Despite his bossiness, nosiness and shrillness, Starscream was fairly competent. 

The seeker was talking to him, but Megatron found him suddenly lost in thought, studying the mech intently. 

Competent to be a right hand man.

The seeker stopped in his tracks, mouth flopping open in a way the elegant seeker would deny to ever doing.

“What is that?” 

A beat of silence wavered over them. 

Starscream was breathing heavily, while Megatrons own ventilations flowed evenly through the room. 

The seeker looked as if he had never seen a youngling in his life.

He probably hadn’t. 

——————————

Megatron was dreaming.

His mind was playing games, cruelly giving way to a reality that didn’t fit the mech he was. Or at least, the mech he thought he was. 

Never had there been a time where he believed he would shift his life for the inclusion of a sparkling. He wasn’t equipped to handle the responsibilities it took to have something so tiny and clueless relying entirely on him. Adaptable as he was, sparklings had far more requirements than any writing or tactical work he’d ever done. They were a domestic aspect of a life he had never been apart of- a luxury left behind after the fall of the 113th senate.

The decision to keep /his/ sparkling, was one that lingered in his processor, and made the situation feel more and more like a dream. The past was still ever present in shaping his mentality, and fed into his anxiety that he never had much to offer, especially to something that had extensive needs. 

But now, he had resources, a growing army, and the ambitious idea that having a sparkling to shape into the perfect Decepticon was a good idea. 

The proliferation of the Decepticons, and the scientists and fight ready mechs and femmes that were drawn into his cause only added reason to keep the little thing.

He had adherents to back him up, and as much as he was a committed unionist, focused on the Decepticons and the goals he wanted to achieve now that Sentinel Prime had been ripped to shreds, there was a nagging thought that swayed him into leaning towards the idea that one sparkling couldn’t be all that hard to keep. 

Most of his army were servile enough to not question what good something so little could do for the Decepticons.

And even if they did, he would remind them of the future, which would certainly see his creation harbouring control over any mech reluctant to accept his place among them. 

Even so, Megatron was still reluctant to give the tiny thing a designation. 

As reluctant as some mechs were to show even an iota of respect to /his/ creation. 

Starscream had tossed a sneer at him during their introduction, and a disgusted ‘let me know when you’ve come to your senses and thrown that thing away’. 

An option that seemed hardly plausible now, when even the slightest distance put between themselves caused a kind of grief Megatron had never seen before. Or felt so affected by. 

Perhaps it was the bond, one between two sparks of the same coding, that Megatron had read in the forums Soundwave had silently passed over to him, that caused such turmoil. 

The wailing didn’t help. 

And now, reality scorned him by filling his lap and his throne with a sparkling that drooled, cried, and sucked on his digits.

It didn’t help that the higher command were well aware of his situation.

The only thing they weren’t aware of was the identity of the mech who had aided in the creation of his sparkling. His strange spark, smaller than average, was a delivery that even Soundwave took several breems to process.

Though eventually, the chubby legs and tiny fingers appealed to the carrier in Soundwave’s spark, and his communications officer took great pride in hefting the sparkling up for hugs. 

Others who cared little for their newest addition, like Shockwave, were more interested in the bizarre spark signature he gave off. 

Starscream shared similar sentiments, and held limited interest, and patience, for his creation.

“What use does it have?” He hummed sourly, glaring down at the curled up ball nestled comfortably in Megatron’s lap.

The sparkling ignored his tone, optics wide with interest as he followed the flared wings fluttering behind Starscream’s back.

“He’ll be emblematic to the Decepticons. A future heir,” Megatron found his voice, studying the seeker closely.

His narrow jaw was quite the match to his own sparkling’s, as was the red that was beginning to blossom in tiny patches across his frame.

Megatron's optics flickered to Soundwave, “Right?”

His third in command shrugged, E.M field shimmering with distaste at Starscream’s blatant disrespect.

The seeker was charming when he wanted to be, if the fusion cannon sitting on his arm were any indication, but his repulsion only highlighted how much of a treacherous brat he was. 

His trinemates, however, were the opposite.

They were also a reminder that Starscream couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Primus, look at him,” Skywarp gushed, leaning forward to offer a wiggling finger to the sparkling. 

Megatron steadied a hand against the little mechs back, his creation entirely unaware of the distance between his frame and the floor as he lurched towards the purple seeker with a delighted squeal.

Even Thundercracker seemed to come out of his sullen stupor to offer the sparkling a small smile and a wave. 

“Can I hold him?”

Megatron’s grip tightened, and he frowned- growing sick of their audience. 

“No.”

Skywarp frowned, “Aw.”

“Why would you want to hold it? Disgusting”, Starscream’s voice floated in from the crowd.

He shoved himself to the front and threw the gladiator an ugly scowl. 

“Kind of looks like you,” Megatron said offhandedly, taking offence. 

He tossed the seeker a sneer.

His creation wasn’t gross. 

He was a new spark.

Skywarp beamed, “You both have the same red!”

Megatron didn’t object to the teleporter leaning over to tickle the red blotches covering the sparklings protoform, nor did he attempt to stop Starscream when he swiped at Skywarp with a snarl.

The seeker disappeared with a vop.

Starscream painted over the red on his armour the next day. 

——————————   
The days went on, and slowly the Decepticons became used to a sparkling amongst their ranks. 

Megatron, on the other hand, found himself fighting a one sided argument with his creation. 

Planning the fall of a city was much easier than any decisions regarding sparklings and the care they needed. Or the feelings that came with it. 

The sparkling wasn’t any hinder to his work, even if he did find himself bringing him along to meetings. His weight in his lap was comforting in a way he would never admit.

There was also the added factor that his presence irritated Starscream, who pointed accusing, and ridiculous, digits at the sparkling any chance he got.

Megatron cared little for his distaste, instead busying himself with planning raids that excluded certain seekers. 

Which only infuriated Starscream more. 

Until Soundwave absently mentioned that his focus on the sparkling wasn’t so much as a way to irritate to Starscream, but because he /liked/ the little thing.

And maybe, just maybe, enjoyed his company.

Megatron scoffed. 

“He’s mine, just because I owe protection to my coding doesn’t mean I care about him.”

Soundwave’s hardly looked impressed, his stare skeptical and flat. 

Megatron’s own expression was hardly impressed, but he glanced down at the menace in his arms, enamoured despite himself. 

It irritated him, and as much as he tried to impose distaste into his feelings for the sparkling- feelings that hadn’t even had time to develop- he couldn’t squash the need to express his care. Even if it was just a gentle brush of his E.M field over the sparkling’s own undeveloped one.

Little optics stared back, and they studied each other for a second.

His creations burning gaze almost seemed to all but silently demand a verdict to his internal debate about what he thought of him.

Soundwave drew closer, brushing a hand over the tiny audial nubs starting to grow in.

“Sparklings; different to normal relationships. The connection is present from the beginning, whether you like it or not.”

Megatron huffed a sigh, thinking distantly back to Terminus’s advice. To not get attached. To stay focused on his goal.

“Your creation, he could aid the Decepticon cause.”

As if the thought hadn’t already crossed his mind.

Every mech was what you made them; sparklings were no different.

Perhaps easier.

It differed wildly from his first thoughts upon seeing the tiny mech in his locker room in the gladiatorial units, wailing through the worm blanket wrapped around it.

He told himself to get rid of it, to leave it.

There was no connection, a mistake- the mech had simply being dumped in the wrong place.

Until Shockwave conducted a simple spark scan.

The knowledge that the thing was his, and sought him out over all others when surrounded by different mechs in the Medbay, conflicted his spark. 

Small, grubby hands reached out for him, and Megatron had reluctantly picked him up. Purple optics, burning and bright, stared into his own crimson ones, and did little to tell him just who had mercilessly dumped him into his unforgiving care. 

He hadn’t found much time for interfacing between raids and building up an army, which didn’t leave many contenders for the identity of the carrier.

Megatron had his suspicions.

An Autobot enforcer wouldn’t have any interest in a sparkling. He would have terminated it. Not dropped it in /his/ room in /his/ gladiatorial units. Though, the mechs knowledge of the location did offer further aid into narrowing down the suspect. 

Even if the suspected truth curdled unpleasantly in his tanks and his spark.

The sparkling had no such worries. For him, there was only refuelling, cuddling, and coddling from fellow Decepticons. 

And the occasional show of softness from his own Sire, who tried to limit his affection in public.

But as the days went by, it only became harder to resist the urge to kiss the tiny, fat little cheeks.

It also become difficult to stop his processor from wandering to the subject of designations, and which ones would be fitting for their littlest Decepticon.

His Decepticon.

The sparkling made a quiet noise, and Megatron bounced him idly, almost forgetting about Soundwave’s presence. 

“He has your optics.”

Megatron raised an optical ridge, glancing down to the sparklings placid, recharging face.

He hadn’t even realised the little thing had drifted off.

“His optics are purple.”

Soundwave shook his head. 

“No,” he said softly, “He has /your/ optics. They take in things like you. He’s observant, and intelligent.”

Megatron thought the sentiment was ridiculous.

“He’s a sparkling. He can’t take in anything.”

He couldn’t see his officers expression behind his mask, but Soundwave’s E.M field bounced with concealed amusement.

“He takes in more than you think.”

Soundwave was too meticulous for his own good, even if to him, it was just basic knowledge.

And common sense.

Their optics both shifted to hover over the sparkling, who was beginning to stir in Megatron’s arms. Chubby legs kicked out, pushing weakly against his Sire’s much stronger chest, insatiable, as always, for attention.

His round little face was a torment to his harsh spark.

Megatron hummed, dismissing Soundwave with a distracted wave. 

“I don’t suppose you remember who dropped you off here?”

His creation gargled, mouth hanging open so he could shove a fist around his small, but sharp, fangs. 

He eyed him for a second, before reaching out with his other hand to grasp at Megatron’s nose.

The gladiator blinked.

The sparkling didn’t let up, wiggling in his arms as his digits twisted around the appendage.

Megatron huffed, and drew the little thing away, servos wrapped around his waist as he dangled him some distance away from his face.

Purple optics stared intently at him.

A nanosecond barely passed before he wiggled again, uncomfortable with the lack of movement. Soft whimpers filled the air, while a small servo smacked at the arms holding him up.

Megatron drew him back to his chest, not wanting a repeat of the sobs that hurt his audials, and, quite annoyingly, his spark.

Stupid Sire protocols.

Sparklings were rare on Cybertron. He should have been revolted. He should have done what most do when faced with a new spark, and gave it up. He was defiling the Decepticon cause by giving into a tenderness that shouldn’t have been present to begin with.

It was rapture that made him hesitant to do the opposite of what he knew he should have been doing. 

The unbridled joy at the new life in his care. 

As much as he despised to admit it, even to himself.

Megatron offered his digit to the spawn, watching as tiny servos latched on, barely big enough to fully wrap them around just one of his fingers. 

He leant down, hesitant at first, before gently rubbing his nose against his creations.

His trills of delight filled the empty room. 

———————————————

 

The identity of the sparkling’s Carrier soon became a problem Megatron found harder and harder to ignore.

Questions arose about his creation, and who would be aiding in the raising of their ‘bundle of joy’.

Megatron had to restrain himself from lashing out at Skywarp for that particular pseudonym.

And as much as he attempted to shut down any comments about the topic, rumours and curious questions still spread. 

He could have found the carrier- easily-, but if he was correct in his suspicions , approaching an Autobot now would be a certain deathwish. 

Picking a mech to dump the responsibility on instead of searching for the bot at fault for their creation was much easier. 

Naturally, Megatron approached the only Decepticon he had ever been interested in bedding.

 

“Starscream.”

“I’m busy.”

Megatron stepped further into the threshold, studying the seeker hunched over his makeshift workbench, tools poking at a smouldering ball of wires.

“I need to talk to you.”

Starscream didn’t look up.

“Later,” He said rudely, flicking his wings to block his work from view. 

“It’s about the sparkling,” Megatron said bluntly, impatience already feeding into the urge to yank off the wings fluttering snottily at the seekers back. He didn’t have time to hover over the subject.

“And?” 

Megatron crossed his arms, “Its coding matches yours.” 

Starscream paused, wings fluttering tensely at his back.

It was a much calmer reaction than he expected. 

He had been bracing for the flurry of sharp claws and burning thrusters.

Starscream’s handsome face turned to face him, the elegant lines of his plating screwed up in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”

The gladiator scowled, “As much as your processor likes to mold everything it hears to better suit your wants, I’m very much telling the truth.”

“As well as giving you an impromptu childcare alert”, He added, crossing his arms. He moved further into the lab, blocking the doorway in case the seeker, who was beginning to look hysterical, tried to make a run for it.

“You’re delusional!” Starscream squawked, placidness draining from his field as lurched out of his seat, wings high on his back.

A blue finger shoved at his chest, “That would make you the Carrier. I think I’m capable of noticing when there’s a spawn festering on my own spark!” He hissed. 

Megatron scowled, shoving the seeker back before a claw latched onto something delicate, “I drew his spark into mine- since your incompetence knows no end- and transferred him into a new frame.”

“I would have noticed,” Starscream said coldly.

“Perhaps you’re not as observant as you think.”

The seeker huffed, “Perhaps you’re just a liar.”

The seekers E.M field retracted with a jerk, but Megatron still caught the storm of panic (and fear) beginning to stir at his circuits.

Starscream glared at him, optics narrowed into slits, “I want scans.”

Megatron stepped forward, taking a second to admire the quivering wings taking up the space above Starscream’s head, sleek and beautiful in his rage.

He unsubspaced a datapad, and wordlessly handed it over. 

Starscream snatched it from him, grumbling insults under his breath as he flicked it on.

Megatron didn’t pull him up for insubordination, watching silently while sharp talons tapped quickly over the screen. 

Red optics studied the scans, and the codes, that Megatron- with the help of Soundwave- had manipulated into a positive match for his sparkling. 

Starscream still looked sceptical, as well as completely furious.

Lips pursed, he shot Megatron a scathing look. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“I was waiting for the right moment.”

Starscream sneered, “You don’t have the capacity to hold such sentiments.”

“You barely know me.”

They shared a blistering look, Megatron bracing for his dramatic emancipation from the sparkling, and Starscream calculating the likeliness of keeping a sparkling alive on a planet falling closer and closer to war.

Starscream, unfortunately, didn’t find the idea of Megatron having a heir nearly as appealing as the gladiator did.

He stuck his nose up, and subspaced the datapad, “I know mechs like you.”

Megatron shot him an irritated look, impatience already chipping away at his temper.

“If that’s what you would like to believe.”

Starscream looked disgusted. 

“You’re predictable.”

Megatron took a step closer, “Yet you couldn’t predict this type of accident.” He held out his hand, “I’d like my datapad back.”

“A mistake, more like it,” Starscream grumbled. “I’m keeping it. I want to study the scans.” 

Crimson optics narrowed, but he let his hand drop. “Don’t alter anything.”

Starscream’s lips spread into a fake smile- a cheap ploy that did little to hide the anger still simmering behind his optics- digits splaying dramatically over his glossy chest,“You think so little of me.”

“A given.” Megatron’s optics wandered to the cannon on his arm, and he smirked, “even if you have your uses.”

“What? To massacre an entire senate, and then spread my legs for you later?”

“Whatever gets you to the top, Starscream,” He purred, enjoying the furious flush of red that spread across the seekers cheeks.

“I have more class than that,” He hissed, thruster twisting irritably at the ground. 

“I hope the same goes for /our/ sparkling.”

Starscream shrunk back, as if he was physically revolted at the mention of their creation. 

Megatron suspected being anywhere near the sparkling was at the bottom of the seekers to-do-list. He held a strange aversion to sparklings, despite his origins from the higher classes of Cybertron that indulged in the raw creation of sparks rather than the mass industrial making of them. 

“I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed about your involvement.”

“I’m not touching that thing,” Starscream said offhandedly, glossa curling in distaste as he turned back to his workbench. 

“I suppose you want to leave his upbringing solely on me?” 

“Precisely.” 

Megatron snorted, “I thought seekers were always highly engaged to sparklings and their needs?”

Starscream’s wings flicked up in offence, “That’s an idiotic stereotype.” He paused, scowling. “One I won’t be indulging in.”

Sparklings weren’t exactly an indulgence. It was more like a fungi you were stuck with. There was no cure, and it would continue to suck the sustenance out of him until he was a deadmech on two legs.

Or at least, that’s how Megatron imagined it.

And Starscream too, by the looks of it.

“I can’t force you to care for him.”

“Obviously.”

“But I implore you to consider the future of the Decepticon ranks. You’re an ambitious mech, Starscream. How much influence from me would it take to encourage my own coding to stand in place of me, instead of you, when I’m not there in command.” 

A sneer was thrown his way, but Megatron could see the possibility ticking away in his deceitful processor.

“Are you threatening me?”

Megatorn smiled thinly, “There’s a sparkling waiting for its carrier.”

Starscream looked close to reaching out and hitting him, or pulling a blaster on him.

“He needs a designation,” Megatron found his voice when Starscream didn’t, eyeing the scientist as he slouched back into his chair. 

Starscream didn’t respond, apathy jarring in his E.M field.

“He’s your creation, too.”

The seeker scoffed, “Throw him in front of an intersection for all I care.”

Megatron pondered his words for a second. 

“Sideswipe should be a fitting name then.”

Starscream still looked disgusted.


	2. Chapter 2

Soundwave was stressed, which Megatron decided had been grimly determined by Sentinel’s new patrol regime. 

Starscream’s sour attitude (which was now rubbing off on his trine mates) hadn’t been helping. 

And now, more often than not he felt like he was putting together a kindergarten, not a fully functioning group of capable, skilled, grown mechs. 

So when Soundwave was stressed, Megatron was stressed.

And a stressed Megatron lead to an even more finicky, high strung Starscream.

The gladiator already had enough on his plate- listening to Soundwave’s monotone rant about the significance of ‘sending a message’, and gathering more followers, which seemed minuscule compared to the issue of raising a sparkling.

It shouldn’t have been his top priority. Soundwave was right to worry. A discovery of their base, underneath even the most scummy city- one that didn’t draw much attention from anything- was a direct threat to them. To his status. He had been needled and picked about the importance of the Decepticons, their future, until he ordered a meeting.

It was attempt to create a more stable hierarchy.

Some mechs had been stepping out of their jurisdiction as of late.

The gladiator sent a jaded glare to Starscream, who looked about as interested as Skywarp during a gladiator match that didn’t involve maiming and death. 

The seeker was impatient, and felt the key to building themselves up lied within conducting raids rather than gathering intelligence. 

Megatron had been busy, preoccupied with fighting, and not knowing what to write when Terminus wasn’t there to urge on his ideas, to give two slags about what the seeker thought. He came from the senate, he was smart, educated more than Megatron had ever been, but he lacked observation. 

It was a stupid, weak notion that shouldn’t have followed him this far into a revolution powerful enough to overthrow a corrupt senate.

Soundwave was skilled at his job, and excelled where Starscream couldn’t. Particularly with discovering knowledge useful to their cause. 

Like a sparkling.

A sparkling that stowed more stress than a deathmatch in a gladiatorial ring.

Fighting was easy, effortless compared to raising something that solely depended on him. 

It was a frustration that sought him out more than excited, young recruits. Especially after the realization that his creations entire person would be shaped around him. Everything he did was an example. 

It was useful.

An advantage.

Soundwave’s E.M field prickled with uncertainty at the thought every time it was brought up, but Megatron would simply remind him of Deadlock.

He was what Megatron made him.

Strong, capable.

A muffled, but still sharp, jab at his processor- no doubt from Soundwave- interrupted his tired philosophy. 

Starscream was glaring at him, which only irritated him further. 

“Well?” Starscream asked, looking dour. 

Soundwave’s mask was completely blank, but he still managed to look entirely done.

A quick explanation of the seekers inane plan explained why. 

Regardless of how intelligent his seeker was, he was still stupidly impatient. Wanting to attempt to establish a crossover point this early was foolish. 

Megatron frowned, watching Starscream’s crimson optics dart around the room. 

Seekers were strange creatures. 

“Killing off more Autobots than the Senate can replace is useless. They’ll always have more, and when they run out, they turn to us. What exactly do you think empurata is, Starscream?”

The seeker scowled, while Soundwave raised a servo.

“Megatron: correct. Autobots: Exceeding in number.”

Starscream huffed, “We can’t all multiply like turbo ra-“

“Enough,” Megatron growled. 

The seekers wings flicked in agitation as he all but draped himself over the table, shortening the distance between them so he could jab a talon in his face.

“Dismissed.” 

“But-“

“Dismissed.”

He’d probably regret his ire, as Starscream had adopted the habit of leaving for weeks at a time when he grew frustrated of the lifestyle they were all slowly adopting.

Though he often returned with something of use. 

Megatron’s backhand comment about the seekers aft shape had brought him Shockwave. 

It wasn’t as detrimenting as he thought it was, to say the least. 

So it was amusing to watch the seeker stalk by him, smelling of expensive wax that didn’t match the grime of their base, muttering under his breath about his newfound uprightness now that Sideswipe was around. Or, in Starscream’s words, “The spawn”. 

Perhaps it was because he had something else to distract him from those long, elegant wings.

Megatron scowled. 

Wings that were itching to escape the cooped up underground. 

Hopefully he returned with something to appease Soundwaves growing anxiety. 

And his own growing ire. 

“Orion Pax: Gaining s-“.

“Enough,” Megatron interrupted bitterly, standing from the squashed table.

Soundwave ignored his sullenness, rising much more gracefully than Megatron had.

“Orion Pax: Status important.”

“His status is nothing. He is nothing. An enforcer with a mnemosurgeon and his uptight partner as allies is nothing to us.”

“Orion Pax: Not to be underestimated.”

Soundwave stared, more than likely expecting some great and overwhelming speech about acknowledging their enemy while keeping their own strengths above them.

Instead, Megatron thought of Sideswipe, and the red that was starting to colour his armour. And the little face that shouldn’t have reminded him of him.

It was the emotions that shouldn’t have been getting in his way.

Soundwave looked as close to sympathetic as he could get, but it just infuriated him more.

“I have things to attend to.”

They left it at that, Megatron stirring his pot of thoughts as he strode out and into the makeshift base. He was stupid, letting an enforcer claw and burrow under his armour like that. An Autobot shouldn’t have been able to make him wallow.

It only fueled his hatred. 

What ended up cheering his mood, after he finished having a good long sulk in a stupor that cleared most of his Decepticons out his path as he strode through the gladiator ring, was his sparkling.

It wasn’t like his creation bent over backwards to shake him out of his anger, but the funny look he was shot as he strode in their room was enough to force out a bark of laughter.

“Did you enjoy your day?”

His answer was a nonsensical babble, but a satisfying answer nonetheless. 

Megatron nodded, slumping down next to the sparklings berth. Sideswipe watched him, feet kicking up in the air like streamers in the wind. 

There was something so breathtaking about him, something that Megatron wished very desperately wouldn't affect him.

It did, and he couldn’t help but offer a finger to his creation, whose hands were so tiny one barely wrapped around his single digit.

“I wonder,” Megatron mused out loud, leaning thoughtfully against his unoccupied hand, “Will you grow up a good fighter?”

Sideswipe sneezed.

“Strong?”

He poked his soft stomach, arching a brow at the soft giggles that rose into the silence of their quarters.

His spark was smaller than the average sparkling. 

But it never showed in moments like these. 

It was almost a half of what a spark was supposed to be, and looked as if it would extinguish at the slightest knock. It was bright though. Incredibly bright. 

Blindingly so.

It didn’t worry him, since his little creation hadn’t been in any danger of offlining. The mood swings though, they were torture. 

He suffered through the giggly playfulness, where all Sideswipe wanted was to be cradled next to his spark, before the next moment he’d go blank. Refused to smile, or even laugh. 

Megatron fed him, bathed him, tickled him, and even (though he would never admit) gently kissed the tiny button that was his nose.

It was futile when he was like that. Nothing solved his turmoil until he managed to soothe himself, or Soundwave offered a helpful nudge with a gentle finger on his temple.

It made him wonder if the missing fragment that was plaguing his creation was a lack of two creators. Megatron had read garbage about sparklings functioning better with two familiar sparks to grow up around.

Perhaps it was true.

Sideswipe stared at him, purple optics wide and full of wonder.

Megatron managed to quietly send a ping to Starscream.

Soundwave was usually willing to babysit.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

After about an hour of looking, and sending out countless amounts of irritated pings, he ended up finding the seeker loitering around an underground bar- one that doubled as some sort of strip joint- with Skywarp, who was whooping inappropriately at the mech dancing in front of him.

The lights and flashiness was almost nauseating, along with the music that thumped heavily from the large speakers connected on each wall. 

It was bad taste, and it screamed Starscream.

Megatron frowned distastefully at the door, moving past security and through the crowd until he spotted the familiar pair of wings floating amongst the gathering of people.

Starscream was hunched over the bar, dejectedly stirring some sickening neon pink drink with his pinky. 

He looked grumpy.

Good. 

The gladiator shoved through the remainder of the crowd, loud music making his patience all but drain. It pounded at his head, and perhaps made him grab at the seeker a little bit to harshly.

Starscream jerked his arm, hand disappearing into his subspace instantly.

“Oh,” He said flatly upon second glance. “It’s you.”

Megatron jerked his hand down, and scowled. 

“What happened to ‘excuse me’ you uncultured fraggin-“

“I need you back at the ring,” Megatron interrupted.

“Why?” Starscream demanded, casting a look back to Skywarp, who was now being berated by security for leaning too far over the stage.

Not his smartest soldier, Skywarp.

“Because, you committed to this cause when you all but worshipped the ground I-“

“That is not what happened,” The seeker snarled. 

“And,” Megatron continued, “Your creation.” 

Starscream sneered. 

“I’m not going near that thing.”

“You’re overdramatic. He’s barely the size of your hand.” Megatron smirked, “You’re not afraid of him, are you?”

The seeker snorted unattractively, “I could squash it with one step.”

“I could do the same to you, but I restrain myself,” Megatron replied offhandedly. 

Starscream swallowed, optics darting back to the sticky swirl of pink in his cube that was beginning to fizz.

He hadn’t touched his drink in a while.

Megatron watched as he swallowed it all in one gulp, shuddering slightly at the stench. He wiped his mouth, and offered the gladiator a filthy look, “It’s a spawn. I told you to get rid of it.”

He paused, and added (quite mockingly), “We’re Decepticons.”

Megatron paid for the drink, face flat and E.M field buzzing, “Sideswipe is the future of the Decepticons.”

He sneered at the seeker, “Unlike some people.”

Tossing him a rag to clean his face, Megatron turned to leave.

That got Starscream moving, if sluggishly, the drink already affecting him.

He snarled childish profanity and argued, but Megatron ignored him.

“Who’s the one that got you that bazooka after I single handed-“

Megatron waved a hand dismissively, “Earn your place. Ambition isn’t enough to distinguish yourself.” 

“Haven’t I done enough?” Starscream snapped. 

Megatron grit his teeth, already sick of the strange looks they were receiving from mechs passing by.

He stopped abruptly, and turned to jab a finger at the seekers chest, “You’re always ready to argue, but never ready to commit to anything bigger than your thumb.” 

Starscream looked incredulous. 

Megatron continued walking, and eventually, Starscream followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
As it turned out, Megatron got his way.

Watching a fully grown seeker stare strangely into the optics of his unimpressed sparkling was amusing, to say the least.

“Why are they purple?” The seeker demanded, turning to glare at the gladiator, who was now resting quite comfortably on his berth, face almost contorted into one of satisfied smugness.

“What?”

“His optics.”

Starscream turned back to Sideswipe, peering down at him like he was some turborat caught in an energon refinery. 

Megatron was just glad they weren’t blue.

He shrugged, nonetheless, “I suppose it’s a nice colour.”

Starscream’s optics twitched, wings folding back tensely like they always did when he was starting to lose his patience. 

“I mean,” He grumbled through gritted teeth, pedes twisting temperamentally against the concrete , “Where did he get purple from?”

“We don’t all have naturally red optics, you know.”

Starscream didn’t look satisfied with the answer, going as far to toss a suspicious glare at him, but he didn’t comment.

Which was how he had been reacting to this entire situation, surprisingly.

Wordlessly.

Even after their ‘talk’, Starscream still didn’t seem very interested in Sideswipe. He took in the faded red that was only starting to come in, and hadn’t bothered to touch the soft, developing protoform that Megatron always felt awkward handling.

It was too delicate, but Sideswipe had yet to burst into an explosion of cries like Soundwave had warned him sparklings were prone to. 

He wasn’t weak, and didn’t complain as much as Megatron thought he would.

Pride had never quite been a feeling he was used to… dishing out.

Not that he’d show it.

Though now Starscream had upgraded to studying the poor kids face, which Sideswipe was beginning to grow sick of, judging by the scowl that had begun to twist at his little face.

Starscream huffed; the only mech Megatron knew who would get offended by a sparklings expression. “He gets that from you.” 

He left without another word, giving neither of them a second glance as he strode out the door. 

Megaton tossed Sideswipe an exasperated look, and leaned over to fix his makeshift crib.

He patted the swaddled sparkling gently.

“He’s a piece of work.”

Sideswipe jabbed a thumb into his mouth, sucking furiously like it was some kind of energon goody. 

“Tell me about it.”

~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is average and not that good but I’m honestly just writing this to improve my writing skill.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re a piece of work.”

Sideswipe didn’t respond. 

He didn’t know many words, only the strange ability to convey just about all his little feelings with one curious look that always bore into him with those big purple optics. 

Starscream stared pointedly at the ceiling, flat on the ground with his wings fanned out on either side of him. 

It should have been relaxing- his finish was gleaming and he had a nice blanket under him to protect his frame from the ground. Sideswipe, however, had made a decisive effort to crawl onto one of his wings and make himself comfortable. 

He had copied his position, arms and legs splayed out across the sensitive panels. Starscream would have made him move, but the last time he made the sparkling cry, Megatron had been on his case for a full deca-cycle.

“Happy now?”

A small hand reaching over to gently pat his cheek was his answer. 

Starscream grumbled, and flicked his wing.

“Your Sire goes out every week to fight in death matches and you’re not even worried.”

He flicked his wing again, cringing slightly when Sideswipe squeal of delight echoed directly into his audial.

“That much confidence in him, huh?”

“Bah.”

Starscream rolled his optics, “Better hope you fight as well as he does.”

He poked the bare armour of Sideswipe’s back, where wings should have been growing, and stared crimson optics into purple. “You also better hope you have my processor.”

They both went silent.

“The senate is gone, you know.”

Sideswipe rolled onto his side, following his voice with big optics and a thumb in his mouth.

“You won’t have to be raised in a society run by Sentinel Prime.”

It was a sentiment every Decepticon was celebrating, but one Sideswipe wouldn’t be able to understand until he was much older.

He sat up, catching the sparkling when he slid down his wings, ignoring the happy giggles that didn’t suit a base full of recruits that were either sociopaths, or weird scientists.

Or both.

No one was fooled by laughter at a poker table anymore. 

Not after Tarn, not after the senate, and definitely not after Megatron began to recruit more and more fighters. 

Some, like Skywarp, where still oblivious to the deeper meaning of their cause, and what they were fighting for, and what Megatron was willing to do for it.

Sideswipe settled comfortably in his lap, optics still following him curiously as Starscream finally returned his gaze.

“What?”

Soft legs, that were made up of uncovered protoform and lacking any kind of armour, pushed up against his stomach. Sideswipe yawned, and dug his fingers into the gaps of Starscream’s legs.

“How does someone like you have Megatron wrapped around your finger?”

The sparklings optics fluttered closed, and he mooshed a chubby cheek against the cold metal of his leg. 

Starscream huffed, “You don’t fool me.”

Sideswipe wriggled, optics now firmly shut, and didn’t respond to the small poke Starscream gave him.

Unfortunately, the seeker underestimated how long Sideswipe would recharge for, and ended up slouched uncomfortably on the floor, sparkling in lap, for a couple of hours.

What a real addition to the Decepticons.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Starscream returned Sideswipe to Megatron with the miserable thought that he was being made into a glorified Decepticon babysitter.

He would’ve stayed up in his towers in Vos if he knew he going to become a sparkling entertainer. There wasn’t much excitement to burping a ball of useless metal compared to taking down a corrupt government attempting to holt a movement he’d taken interest in for, not just the /large/ gladiator, but the potential it held. 

Megatron's next words, after he took his creation into his arms and rubbed his nose gently against Sideswipe’s much smaller one, surprised him.

“People are going to think you gave me this position because I’m the creator to your sparkling.”

Megatron shook his head, turning his attention away from Sideswipe to give the seeker a sharp look. “Their knowledge of Sideswipe’s creators is limited to me.”

He rested a large hand on Starscream’s shoulder, ignoring the pursed lips and irritated optics staring up at him, “The senate gone now. Consider it a.. reward.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Starscream glared at him suspiciously, “What do you want in return?”

Megatron lifted his arm, showing off the fusion cannon bolted there.

“For now, this is enough.”

Starscream eyed it for a moment, processor ticking over the future of the Decepticons, which now seemed much bigger than anything the tower mechs had to offer, before he let his scowl twist into a very small grin. 

“You won’t be disappointed.”

Skywarp felt his giddiness over their bond, and poked a cruel digit into the paranoia that had been churning in his stomach ever since the arrival of Megatron’s ‘bundle of joy.’

‘Wait until Sideswipe’s all grown up.’

The thought made the seeker pause. 

Sideswipe wasn’t alone in his future upbringing, and there was a lot room for the child of Megatron to push his influence over the Decepticons. Tarn worshipped anything that was in relation to their leader, and would be happy to provide a pathway into rule for the youngling. 

Starscream scowled.

‘For now, he’s a tiny ball of nothing. It doesn’t matter what he’ll do in the future. The present is now and it’s mine.’

Skywarp sent the equivalent of a shrug, ‘Whatever you say.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Megatron’s next speech, written to appeal to everyone who wasn’t part of the aristocracy, ended up efficiently tearing down the senate, and the newest mech who had taken up the title of Prime.

Anger concealed as defiance wove around each of his words, and Starscream listened with interest, switching between watching Megatron take the cheers of his crowd in stride, and Sideswipe curled comfortably in one of his arms.

Soundwave had quietly declared it was to make a point- a point of what, neither of them knew. 

Starscream crossed his arms, “He’s showing off.”

Silence fell over the sea of mechs, their worker markings painted over- some even with crudely drawn Decepticon insignias where their brands once were. They watched Megatron’s gaze wander over them, their own optics settling on the sparkling in his arms.

The original curious mummers had died down with Megatron’s speech, but their interest still lingered among the crowd.

Soundwave shook his head. 

“Megatron: Not being clear.”

Starscream huffed, “When is he ever clear?”

Soundwave’s face was covered, but the seeker could feel the glare being thrown at him.

“What? It’s true. He’s purposely obtuse sometimes. Acting like he doesn’t know what your up to and then showing up to your favourite bar in the middle of the night to lecture you about being subtle in ‘times like these’.” 

One of the mechs in front of them shot him a funny look, and inched slowly away.

Starscream crossed his arms, glaring pointedly up at Megatron, who didn’t look anywhere near done speaking. 

Even Sideswipe looked bored.

The seeker sent a ping to Soundwave, and checked his internal chronometer. 

“Is Kaon still Megatron’s next move?”

“Kaon: Under Autobot monitoring.”

Soundwave tapped his chest, “Cassettes: monitoring Prime.”

Starscream frowned, “What makes Optimus so different from Sentinel?”

“Soundwave: Has suspicions.”

Starscream perked up, but Soundwave stood rigid, closing the ping line with a firm shake of his head.

The crowd began to disperse, and Starscream belatedly realised Megatron had finished his speech.

“What are your suspicions then?” 

Soundwave didn’t reply.

The two watched as Sideswipe was handed over to Tarn- whose new mask was the tackiest thing Starscream had ever seen, while Megatron idly talked to Deadlock- a bold but quiet street rat they had recently picked up.

A hierarchy had already begun to form, and there wasn’t much room for peace or negotiation now. 

“This movement is going to turn into a war.”

Soundwave remained silent, but the fall of Tarn wasn’t something the Autobots would take lightly.

The higher command was small, but growing- and Starscream was hoping for a larger role amongst his seekers. They were under his command, and would follow him. 

The position of second in command was rightfully his, and a war wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to their planet. 

He hoped. 

Whether Megatron was willing to raise his sparkling through one, and what he was willing to make Sideswipe into, was up for debate, and a whole other subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/user/levitatetohell1/playlist/1gwQA1g3hfhCUuh3imtyNk?si=IamOkpRZTWm5UtXJQx-2NA
> 
> Have a playlist.
> 
> Also again, this fic is to improve my writing, so I apologise if it’s not the best writing, and if it moves too fast or slow, but I’m working to get my chapters longer. And improve my writing overall.
> 
> And if anyone is interested, I’m thinking of starting a mini series with some one shots regarding this fic. Will be set in the future, will show sideswipes relationships with different Decepticons, and some insight into how Sunstreaker is being raised. I will probably take requests.


	4. Chapter 4

Megatron considered himself to be adept at many things. 

Basic medical training, fighting, how to write, how to smash rocks into tiny pieces, ect.

Stopping a tired, but otherwise fed and healthy, sparkling from screaming his little head off, was not one of them. 

And he tried everything. 

He put the sparkling in his berth, tucked a warm blanket around him and, after a second of consideration, kissed his tiny cheek.

When that didn’t work, Megatron scooped him up to rest his little frame against his spark, hoping the familiarity and the warmth would soothe him.

He had even tried asking nicely.

Sideswipe responded with high pitched wailing that eventually trailed off into hiccuping sobs, before the whole process started over again.

And now they sat together, Sideswipe squirming and sobbing in his lap, while Megatron stared at him cluelessly.

And then glared.

Sideswipe didn’t notice his frustrated gaze. His frame wriggled and cried without abandon, optics and nose scrunched up in his misery. 

Megatron let himself slump backward, lump in his throat as considered how the mech caring for Sideswipe before him dealt with this. 

He vaguely wondered if this was why he had been abandoned in the first place, which made his spark twinge with anger. 

Sure sparklings were a lot, but Sideswipe was cute.

His pedes kicked out, pushing against Megatron’s stomach with guttural howl. 

Megatron sighed, and scooped him up, tucking him safely into the crook of his arm as he reached for a datapad.

It was an older piece of his poetry, inexperienced and a poor representation of his writing. 

He flicked it on, audials still straining under the continuous assault of Sideswipe’s sobbing, before he began to read.

The results weren’t instantaneous, and for a while he could barely hear his own voice over the crying. He was about a chapter in when Sideswipe finally stilled, their quarters trailing into silence as he wriggled in his arms to face him.

The quiet was almost a shock. 

Sideswipe listened with rapture, mouth hanging open in what Megatron hoped was awe. He babbled something, before moving forward to bite the corners of Megatron's armour, optics round and wide.

At least he was calming down.

There wasn’t any way he would have been able to understand the symbolism of the words and their relation to the mines and the hierarchy of Cybertron, but his creation still listened, hands reaching to grasp Megatron's own much larger ones.

Megatron rumbled a laugh, “Finally, something we have in common.”

Sideswipe didn’t laugh, but his mouth spilt into a wide grin around Megatron’s armour.

He continued reading, voice soft and low in the dark room of their shared quarters.

His sparkling settled, but still occasionally whimpered, hands rubbing clumsily over the protoform of his chest.

Megatron paused.

Sideswipe cast a teary eyed look at him, and freed one of his hands twisted at his chest to rub at an optic.

It would have been cute, if Megatron hadn’t jerked to his pedes in a belated show of worry.

Sideswipe squawked, and slapped a hand over his Sire’s stomach in alarm as he strode out the door, comming Hook as he went. 

The halls were silent, the mechs who did live in the makeshift base in recharge or on guard duty. Sideswipe stayed blessedly quiet as he strolled through the labyrinth that Soundwave had deemed an acceptable dwelling

Hook looked grumpy at his impromptu awakening, but was either too tired, or smart, to complain. 

“What’s the problem?”

Megatron held Sideswipe out, who fussed at the treatment, and shook him (gently) for emphasis, “Something’s wrong with his spark.”

Hook eyed the sparkling doubtfully. 

“He looks fine. Maybe a bit tired.” He checked his chronometer. “Why isn’t he in recharge?”

Megatron growled, “Because he wouldn’t stop crying. And rubbing at his chest.”

Had he mentioned the crying?

The medic sighed, and briefly wondered if it was worth angering the gladiator for a good night sleep. 

But if there was something wrong with the sparkling, he’d get his legs ripped off.

“I’ll do a scan,” He decided nervously. 

The two trailed after him to the Medbay, Sideswipe wriggling and huffing in his Sires arms, while Megatron retreated into his thoughts. 

His creation was plopped onto the gurney, whining fading as he observed his new environment with curiosity.

He babbled something nonsensical, and jabbed a stubby finger in the direction of a grey mech slouched and lifeless in the corner of the room.

Megatron glared.

Hook forced a laugh, and held up his servos, “I didn’t know Sideswipe would be visiting the Medbay.”

“Just be sure to get rid of it,” Megatron muttered, angling his sparkling away from the deactivated, and rusting, mech.

Silence fell over the Medical Ward as the Constructicon arranged his equipment, muttering intelligibly to himself while Sideswipe watched curiously.

He only fussed a little when the scanner washed over him, but went silent at Megatron’s gentle hand on his back. 

“There’s nothing wrong, as far as I can see, but I assume the pain was from his spark. It’s too small for someone his age.”

“Will it affect him the future?” Megatron asked sourly, frowning softly at his creation.

Sideswipe stared back at him, feet kicking idly in boredom.

“I can’t be sure. It might grow as he ages, but my suggestion would be extra supplements.”

“What about the pain?”

Hook shrugged, “He’s too young for pain medication. My best advice would be to just comfort him as best you can.”

“He’s been miserable as of late,” Megatron murmured, stroking a digit down the soft protoform of his back. 

Hook did his best to look interested. “Perhaps you haven’t properly bonded yet,” He said boredly.

“He doesn’t have problem with my presence.”

He assumed Sideswipe at least liked him. Megatorn fed him, and bathed him, and comforted him. His sparkling was kind of obligated to show some sort of affection towards him.

And he did. Sometimes. Other times he’d whimper at random intervals, head swiveling around like he was looking for something.

Often he felt cruel for wondering whether it was the right choice to keep him. But sparklings were a rare occurrence on Cybertron, and he felt a strange sense of responsibility towards him. He blamed it on Sire protocols, and not his own feelings.

They didn’t take to each other immediately, but he figured it was something they’d have to grow into.

Megatron merely assumed his creation missed his carrier, and the environment he had been used to. 

It was hard to get to know a mech when they didn’t talk, or have the typical interests of a grown Cybertronian.

He wouldn’t call nibbling on his armour a hobby.

Sideswipe squirmed, interrupting his thoughts as babbled a demanding noise, hands outstretched in a silent demand to be picked up.

Bossy little thing.

Megatron obliged, and exchanged a glance with his creation. He looked familiar in ways he couldn’t describe. 

Hook gave them both a strange look.

“Do you miss him?”

Sideswipe churred, head snuggled into his chest as he reached up to pat at his Sire’s chin.

Megatron hoped he was thinking something along the line of ‘yes, but you’re good enough’. 

Better than being raised by an Autobot. Their corruption knew no end, and he could only imagine the propaganda that would be fed into sparklings and new recruits alike.

At least here, he’d be raised right.


End file.
